Mirrors
by Blair.1907
Summary: PRE-WWI and WWII; "I was always, always there for him. And he repaid me with rebuke." "Then it is your fault." Yao replies. "You do not train a dog to bite its own master." /In which Arthur and Yao discuss the failure of upbringing in their nations/


**AN: DO NOT OWN HETALIA, or else it would just be a massive gay orgy. Just saying.**

**Hey guys! So I took a break and decided to write angst based more historical aspects of the world. I do not ship Nichu, because I just can't see it working out. It's sort of like shipping Poland and Germany...in WW2...and that does not spell pleasent, does it?**

**Anyways, You will find that this story is in the perspective of the early 20th century, before WW1 and 2 have broken out. China and England just discuss about their lives, and how ;different; they are, when in fact-they are basically the same.**

**REVIEWS pleash? :D Would make me a very happy girl, da.**

**-Sunny**

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><p><span>Mirrors<span>

The aroma of jasmine and ceylon waft in the dimly lit room. The room itself is a spacious, sparsely furnished space, with deep maroon walls and faded carpet. A table made of aged cherry wood sits alone near the wide glass window. Black curtains are drawn back to relieve the dark room with some light, and though barely sufficient, does the job of lifting some gloom.

Two figures are seated in stiff chairs made of the same material as the tea table. One sits straighter than the other, donning an immaculate white dress shirt and a black suit with tie. His coarse blond hair is slicked back against his head. His eyes are as green as the jades encrusted in his teacup, and glimmered ten times harder.

The other man wears a simple, scarlet robe. Gold thread was weaved skilfully into the silk to form images as lithe as the steam rising from the cups. Black hair hangs loose around his shoulders, framing a pale, slender face. His golden gaze is as steady as the pendulum of the grandfather clock.

There is no conversation, no word nor sound uttered. There is only the faint clinking of china and ticking of the clock. There is no tension or anxiety in the air, but merely a feeling of wariness, as one waits for the other to make a move. And when no move is made, there is no impatience exuded-only acceptance being swallowed slowly along with the tea.

It seems as if an eternity has passed, before a voice disrupts the silence.

"Excellent as always. Though I did not expect any less from you."

There is a pregnant pause, then a reply just as pleasant. "Of course. It is my pride and joy."

The stillness is long forgotten, something of the past, and the two men break into an animate chat. A chat about tea, and what was put into the tea, and how the tea was made. About how delicious the tea was, or how it lacked of a certain taste. Never does their conversation stray to any other topic than the hot beverage they were sipping away-because both knew that as far as relations went, a liking for tea was the only thing they had in common.

But today is different because one man-the blond-sets his teacup primly down upon the saucer. He clasps his hands together, and a foreign expression enters his eyes. The other man senses the change, and follows suit, but with a raised brow.

"What is this, aru?" he asks.

"Nothing that would impose." the white man replies. "I just was thinking of things other than business and trades, and other worldly affairs."

The arched eyebrow remains. "And what do you have on your mind now?"

"Just memories. Of the past, of the present. Of times long gone, and good old habits. It is really a shame that we must feel such age. Time weathers a human. It erodes them, and it renders them dull, even drives them insane."

"We are not humans."

"I know. I was merely stating a fact. However, it is not only humans who feel the wrath of time."

"I have seen much more than you have, as well as walked the earth's floors earlier than you ever will. You have nothing to complain about."

"I'm not complaining-tell me, Yao, why is it that we must fight every time we bring up something new?"

There is a long silence. The Asian man stares at the air above his cup, as though entranced by invisible wisps of steam. But the tea, no longer hot, could provide no such diversions.

"Would you like some more tea? I will brew a fresh batch. There was some that Egypt sent to me that I haven't tried yet."

"I would like for you to answer my question."

A tension as thick as molasses oozes into the room. "I do not feel the need to satisfy your mind's every whim. Nor do you have the right to force it upon me, or any other countries."

"Excuse me?"

"You are excused." comes a scoff. "Do not forget, Arthur-many have left you, and many more will. Remember, those around you are merely a mirror image of yourself. They reflect your behaviours, your habits, your virtues. Your decency."

"And what do you mean to imply by this, my dear friend Wang Yao?"

"I need not explain. You are bright enough, are you not?"

"The others who have sought independence from me are lacking clarity of thought. But it does not matter to me-it is their loss, after all."

"It is their loss, indeed, for you poor conducts."

"Keep quiet, my dear friend."

"I will not."

"Even if you hate me, I-"

"I hold no grudge against you. Only pity, for only those who bully others are of weak minds. Your scandal over my people have not gone without damage, but my people are strong, and will overcome the feat."

"Than what is with this bickering?"

"We are not bickering. That is something for you and America."

"That bloody fool asked for the fights himself. He is an arrogant, pompous traitor."

"It was the upbringing. No one of my siblings has ever turned upon me quite as rudely as yours has."

"You got lucky." The grandfather clock's beat thumps heavier with each second. "I was just as hardworking as you in raising him. I fed him. I talked to him. I read to him. I played with him. I cared for him. I taught him the right and the wrong. I was always, always there for him. And he repaid me with rebuke."

"Then it is your fault." The other replies. "You do not train a dog to bite its own master."

_snap._

"Do not break the china, it is delicate and was a handmade gift sent to me from the Emperor."

A malicious smile is set on the blond man's face; his fingers brush along the edges of the broken porcelain, but his green eyes never leave the other.

"The elegant and refined will always break in the end. Remember my dear friend-the times are a changing, and people are changing. Turning one's back is as easy as a single word. There is no hope to live long in this world if you do not remain strong all the time."

The sound of chair legs scarping the floor is heard. The Chinese stands tall with the tips of his robe barely brushing the floor. He bends his back in the slightest bow.

"It is my duty to know that. But let me assure you, leave as they might, none of my brethren have betrayed me, and that will remain unchanged."

"Then I wish for it to be changed."

The Chinese clicks his tongue. He turns sharply on his heel, not bother to look back. His confident strides carry him out the door, all the while forgetting that reflections of his future, are set right before his eyes.

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><p><strong>Yay for histoprical references! <strong>

**The 'hate' between Yao and Arthur are the Opium wars. The bickering between Alfred and England is the American Revolution. And China's tradgic future is the WWII yet to come.**

**Joy for angst**

**Reviews are always much loved and cherished! Please tell me what you thought, and leave a simple comment! Thanks!**

**PS: No spellcheck, no Beta, just raw writing. Forgive me for any grammatical errors and such, please.**


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